das Schweigen brechen
by Sister Muses
Summary: Despite the darkness of past and present, the Mastermind of Schwarz is able to go through life with the help of his gift. But what if what makes Schuldich who he is...disappears?
1. Fade to Black

das Schweigen brechen  
~by Amiko and Mami~  
  
*****  
  
To break the silence, it takes a scream...  
  
*****  
  
Damn, his head hurt.  
  
Schuldich scowled as he stumbled towards the door to the seedy nightclub he'd visited so many nights in the past, the flashing lights and pumping music only causing his head to throb more acutely. Impatiently swatting away inviting hands that reached towards him on his way out, he snatched his coat from the hook by the door and walked quickly out into the embracing night.  
  
Shuddering, he pulled his coat on and glared blearily at the open doorway behind him. Damn, he must've had more to drink than he'd thought. He never left the clubs this early.  
  
He reached up, touching fingertips gently to his aching forehead. Way too fucking much to drink.  
  
Muttering to himself and ignoring the hazy babble of thoughts running through his head from the people on the streets of Tokyo, he made his unsteady way towards the flat he shared with his teammates.  
  
He was feeling thoroughly shitfaced by the time he spotted the familiar building on the corner of the street named.. whatever the hell it was called. Some stupid flowery name that he hadn't had the desire to memorize. It was easier to just pick up on the stirrings of his teammates' thoughts as he got closer to his destination.  
  
Someone had not turned the outside light on, and he was unlucky enough to stub his toe on the concrete step outside the front door. He swore loudly, favoring the foot as he dug around in his pocket for his keys. Muttering darkly under his breath about how the light above the door was there so people would not kill themselves when trying to get in their own houses, he finally managed to locate the key ring and tugged it free. Long fingers slid over the keys, searching for the short one that would let him in.  
  
He missed the knob on the first try and had to brace himself against the side of the house, using both hands to guide the key into its slot. It resisted being turned and he gave it a jiggle and a hard yank. He was contemplating either kicking the door to get someone's attention or ringing the doorbell when it finally clicked.  
  
He made as much noise as possible as he went through the front hall, slamming the door behind him, discarding his keys and coat on the floor and tossing his shoes carelessly against the wall as he toed them off. He could vaguely sense Nagi's irritation from the other room and smirked in triumph.  
  
"Maa maa~ chibi," he drawled as he entered the den and spotted the slender youth curled up on the sofa, nose buried in a thick book. "So thoughtful of you to leave the light on."  
  
"The light bulb burnt out," Nagi replied in a monotone without bothering to look up. Schuldich plucked up a coaster from the coffee table and flicked it at him idly as he sauntered by. "Don't kill the messenger," Nagi quoted, eyes still skimming over the pages.  
  
Schuldich jeered at him and padded down the hall into the bathroom, flipping on the light switch and yawning loudly. He winced and immediately turned off the light again. It hurt his head too damn much. He opened the mirror door above the sink and rummaged through the rows of drugs for painkillers, fingers groping for the familiar bottle.  
  
He managed to knock a few over before picking up the two he figured had the best chance of being his. He tilted his hand towards the doorway, checking the labels. He chucked the wrong one over his shoulder and unscrewed the lid of the remaining bottle, dumping a few pills into his hand. They were gross on his tongue and he filled his palms quickly from the sink to wash them down.  
  
He let out a quiet sigh, resting his hands on the rim of the sink for a moment and glancing up at his shadowed reflection. Hopefully the medicine would kick in soon. He did hope to get some sleep tonight, but that was looking like it would take some effort. Releasing the porcelain, he stepped back and wandered back into the hall.  
  
He almost ran into Farfarello as he reentered the den. The madman favored him with a brief, one-eyed stare and didn't pause on his way to the kitchen. Schuldich smirked at him. "What's the rush, Farf?" Damn, he must really be drunk- to not have been alerted by the madman's approaching thoughts.  
  
Right now the thoughts in question were jumbled, an incoherent background noise. Schuldich frowned slightly before shrugging it off as his drunkenness... Either that or Farfarello was getting more insane by the day, and his thoughts had ceased to be coherent.  
  
He didn't bother to keep that thought shielded, and felt a twinge of irritation from the scarred man, though he did not turn around to look at him, obviously more intent on digging up a late night snack.  
  
...Hopefully one that was already dead. Nagi had come across a still-twitching pigeon in the fridge one afternoon, and had come dangerously close to losing his cool. Schuldich grinned at the memory and wandered into the den, flopping unceremoniously down on the sofa across from Nagi and digging the remote control out of the cushion cracks.  
  
"I'm reading," Nagi informed him without looking up.  
  
"That's nice," Schuldich said airily, turning on the television.  
  
Nagi lowered his book slowly to give him a stony look, and the screen abruptly went dark. Schuldich flicked the boy a glance and turned it back on. Nagi met his gaze calmly and the television set turned off again. On any other night, Schuldich might have been willing to play the game until Nagi finally gave up, but for some reason he wasn't in the mood today. He studied the dark screen for a while, debating whether or not to just play for the principle of the game. The decision was taken out of his hand when the remote was tugged away by an unseen hand and sent across the room to rest on the entertainment center. Schuldich watched it go in silence.  
  
Nagi turned back to his book.  
  
Schuldich tilted his head back, letting it rest against the back of the couch and gazing up at the ceiling. Damn headache. Why wasn't the medicine working yet?  
  
"Where's Crawford?" he asked idly.  
  
"He already went to bed," Nagi responded automatically.  
  
"Ch'..." Schuldich sneered. "Early bird gets the Weiß and all that crap, eh? What a prude."  
  
Nagi declined to comment.  
  
Schuldich winced as his head began to throb insistently. "Saa...Think I'll be a prude for tonight," he muttered, climbing to his feet. "Keep an ear open for the one-eyed wonder boy, chibi."  
  
Nagi ignored him, and Schuldich wandered from the room with his hands in his pockets, too tired to even play with the boy's mind. He was not interested in removing anything other than his jacket, which he let slide carelessly to the floor, before flopping onto his mattress. He lay sprawled on his stomach for a while, face buried in his blanket, wondering if it were possible to will a headache away. Keeping his eyes closed, he slowed his breathing in an attempt to fall asleep.  
  
Ten minutes later he gave up trying to fool himself and rolled onto his back. He clasped his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. It was going to be a long night...  
  
*  
  
Schuldich wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping that night.  
  
Downtown, Yohji was tossing and turning restlessly in his bed. For once the silk sheets he'd bought at such expense were failing to soothe him and carry him into dreams of women, of confusion, and of the past. Finally he sat up with a gusty sigh, raking honey-colored bangs from his eyes and glaring belligerently at the innocent alarm clock by his bed.  
  
Almost one o' clock in the damn morning. Jesus.  
  
He kicked his sheets to the end of the bed and rose. He scratched wearily at his scalp as he padded to the kitchenette in the small apartment he had rented shortly before the beginning of Weiss, dressed only in his black silk boxers. He was going to have to get up again in about six hours, so he might as well get a drink and try to knock himself out in front of bad reruns.  
  
Rummaging through the nearly-empty fridge, he snatched up a beer and wandered into the small den, plopping onto the couch's deep cushions and rummaging for the remote. He found the Lifetime channel and settled down to watch. What better station to put him to sleep? Besides, there were some pretty hot chicks on that channel.  
  
Nursing his beer bottle, he glanced towards the window at the night sky outside as some woman on the show lamented on about her husband's affairs.  
  
There hadn't been any missions in almost five days. He wondered grimly what the infamous Schwarz was up to, and if they would meet again anytime soon.  
  
He grinned tightly and returned his attention to the television set.  
  
If so, he was going to be ready for that damned German this time. He wouldn't lose again to that maniac.  
  
Not this time.  
  
*  
  
The coffee was cold when Schuldich finally left his bedroom. He shuffled into the room, raking sleep-tangled hair from his face and yawning loudly. It had taken a long time before he had been able to sleep last night, and he didn't feel rested at all. He tugged a mug down from the counter and filled it. Taking a sip and making a face at the temperature, he considered just chucking it.  
  
At least his headache was better. It was still a dull ache, but no longer the sharp pain that had haunted him last night. There was a murmur in his mind, and he glanced towards the door. Someone must be waking up.  
  
Nagi was standing in the doorway, looking at him blandly without speaking.  
  
Schuldich stared back for a minute before cracking a grin. "Aren't we the talkative one this morning."  
  
"I only asked you why you were drinking cold coffee," Nagi said calmly, walking by him to rummage through the fridge for breakfast.  
  
Schuldich blinked, opened his mouth, and shut it again. When had Nagi asked him that?  
  
Shrugging it off as inattention, the German turned to dump his coffee in the sink. "Be a good chibi and make a new pot."  
  
"Just turn it back on," Nagi retorted, pulling eggs from the fridge, "and let it heat up."  
  
"You're lazy."  
  
"You're two feet from the coffee pot," Nagi pointed out, nudging the fridge shut with a foot. A cabinet opened and a pan floated out to land on a burner on the stove. As he cracked the eggs open on the corner of the pan a spatula came over to rest on the countertop beside him.  
  
Schuldich rolled his eyes and reached over to flip the switch on the coffee maker. Crawford walked in at that moment, empty coffee mug in one hand, newspaper in the other. He flicked his German comrade a calm look as he set his mug in the sink. "Where were you last night?"  
  
Schuldich offered a suggestive grin. "Out."  
  
Crawford chose not to expand on the subject. He set his paper on the table and took off his glasses, polishing them on the front of his crisp white shirt. "We have a job."  
  
"Ch..." Schuldich drummed his fingertips on the counter and tilted his head to one side, jade eyes watching Oracle. "Which weasel do we have to clean up after this time?"  
  
"The executive board of Kaltoa's Higa-sen branch is going to be meeting," Crawford answered, checking his glasses before setting them on the bridge of his nose and sliding them up into place with a finger. "They would prefer to have guards nearby, as they have several people that would like them dead."  
  
Schuldich flicked rogue strands of hair over his shoulder and turned to the coffee pot, poking the glass experimentally to check the temperature. "Another exciting job," he declared. "It's great to be alive." He couldn't tell if the coffee was hot or not and let his fingertip linger a moment too long. He drew his finger back quickly when he registered that it was burning and gave his hand a small shake.  
  
Nagi flicked him a knowing glance out of the corner of his eye that Schuldich decided to ignore. His head was beginning to hurt again. He stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth for a moment as he digested what he had just been told. "Who's going?"  
  
"All of us." Crawford noticed the cooking eggs and glanced at Nagi. Something in Schuldich's mind murmured.  
  
Nagi wordlessly took out four plates and set them on the table.  
  
Schuldich frowned, reaching up to touch his temple. Crawford didn't miss the gesture. "Something wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," he said blithely, lowering his hand. "Just a hangover."  
  
"Take some medicine," Crawford ordered, going over to get juice from the fridge. "Let Farfarello out while you're at it."  
  
"Yes, Doctor Crawford." He poured himself a mug of coffee, grinned at the cool look Crawford favored him with, and padded out of the room. As he passed Farfarello's door he reached out and rapped his fist against it, letting the Irishman know it was time to get up. He entered the bathroom, flicking the light switch on, and set his mug to one side. It took only a moment to find his bottle and he popped the lid off. He shook a pill into his hand and replaced the bottle to its spot in the medicine cabinet. Swallowing it with a gulp of his hot coffee, he returned to Farfarello's room.  
  
Farfarello was still asleep, judging by the muddled hum Schuldich received from a poke towards his younger teammate's mind. He tugged at the bolts and pushed the door open, stepping in. "Hey, Farf-" he started.  
  
He faltered as he was reaching to flick the lights on. Farfarello was awake. In fact, the Irishman was currently in the middle of carving his arm up. There were two slashes already done, and right now his blade was slowly digging another gash through the flesh. Blood trailed down his arm in sluggish streams and there was a small puddle on the ground under his fingertips. Schuldich's mouth pulled in a faint frown.  
  
It wasn't the crazed Irishman's self-mutilation that stirred up a feeling of unease in him. It was the fact that he hadn't been able to tell his partner was awake by his thoughts. He forced back the flutter of worry and blamed it on his hangover. He forced a grin onto his face and placed his hands on his hips. "Making yourself a homemade tattoo, Farf?"  
  
The Irishman looked up at him slowly, face expressionless.  
  
"Let me guess," Schuldich sighed, rolling his eyes. "You're busy hurting God."  
  
He snatched a towel off a nearby shelf and strode over, bending over and quickly wrenching the knife away. Farfarello's fist flew at him with lightning speed, but Schuldich calmly deflected the blow, pushing his arm to the floor and pressing the towel to the wound firmly. ~Nagi,~ he sent. His head gave a throb of protest, and he winced.  
  
A moment later Farfarello froze, pinned to the spot as Nagi appeared in the doorway, observing them calmly.  
  
Schuldich continued to apply pressure, muttering to himself. The Irishman may not feel pain, but that didn't mean he couldn't die from blood loss. "Get the bandages, chibi," he snapped over his shoulder.  
  
"Someone's in a bad mood," Nagi murmured, and the first aid kit floated into the room to land beside Schuldich. Farfarello was glaring murderously at the both of them, obviously furious that his fun had been spoiled.  
  
"The boy's observant, isn't he?" Schuldich asked Farfarello, freeing one hand from the blood-soaked towel to pry the box open. Enough blood had come through the towel that he left small crimson streaks on the contents of the first aid kit. He found some antibiotic swabs and chucked the towel to one side. Ripping the packages open, he unfolded the cloths, making a face at the pungent odor the medicine gave off. He used rough swipes to clean the mess, working quickly. "I told you to watch him last night," he reminded the boy in the doorway, but his accusation went unanswered.  
  
He used his teeth to help undo the tape that kept the bandage roll tightly wound while his other hand continued to clean the wounds. Finally he dropped the cloth to one side and began to wrap up the albino's arm. His head was beginning to throb harder and he grit his teeth, as if somehow that would make the pain go away. He fastened the bandages in place and collected the trash, leveling Farfarello with an annoyed look.  
  
"You're a retard, Farfarello," he informed the younger man, then snapped the kit shut and rose to his feet. "We have a job later, so you'd better stop the shit."  
  
The Irishman rose slowly to his feet, freed of Nagi's tight control. He turned a gleaming eye on Schuldich, picking absently at the bandage. His attention had obviously been diverted by this new way to hurt his god. "When?" he demanded simply.  
  
"You can ask Crawford," Schuldich told him shortly, plucking up his coffee. "It's time for breakfast. And quit messing with that." He left quickly, heading towards the bathroom again. Evidently one pill hadn't been enough.  
  
Strangely, once he was out of the madman's presence, his headache lessened. He popped two more pills, frowning at his reflection. Something was wrong here. He'd never had trouble hearing his mind mates' thoughts before after drinking. Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind before he could accidentally let them slip into the bond, he strolled into the kitchen.  
  
Crawford was already seated at the table and Farfarello was pulling his chair out when Schuldich arrived. Nagi stood by the stove, watching something that was cooking. Schuldich set his mug down at his place and hooked a foot around a leg of his chair to pull it out. He sat and leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the side of his mug. Nagi finished at the stove and dished the eggs he had made into a large bowl. It floated towards the table, followed by slices of toast as they popped out of the toaster.  
  
Schuldich plucked his out of the air as it came to a rest in front of him. He set about buttering it as Nagi approached the table and poured Farfarello and himself some of the same juice Crawford was already drinking. He set the jug down as small sausages began to float off one of the other pans at the stove and drain themselves on paper towel. They all bounced onto a platter together and the dish brought itself to the table. The four served themselves in silence, and for a few minutes the only sound was that of their utensils.  
  
"Schuldich," Nagi said a trifle impatiently.  
  
Schuldich looked up from playing with his eggs to blink at the younger boy. Everyone was staring at him.  
  
Nagi shook his head irritably, and the salt by Schuldich's plate floated over to the other boy. "Pay attention. I asked if you were done with the salt."  
  
"No you didn't," Schuldich snapped.  
  
"I did," Nagi said hotly.  
  
Crawford was studying Schuldich keenly. Farfarello turned back to dicing up his sausage into tiny little chunks, losing interest in the argument.  
  
The little twinge of uneasiness was back. Schuldich glanced from Crawford to Nagi, then quickly reverted his attention back to his eggs. He stretched out, probing at the telekinetic's mind. His head began to throb, and he pulled back hastily. Nagi flicked him a questioning glance as he felt the German's quick withdrawal, but decided to let it lie.  
  
Schuldich abandoned his eggs in favor of sipping at his coffee. Jade eyes gazed at his plate without seeing it; his appetite had been replaced by the feeling that something was out of place. Perhaps he was just getting sick, and the illness was interfering with his gift. The thought did little to reassure him, however. Even when distracted by his own thoughts, even when sick before, he had never missed messages sent directly to him. He had to be smashed or heavily drugged to be deaf to his teammates- and he was neither. Well, there was his headache medicine, but it had never had such a side effect before.  
  
Maybe the medicine had expired. Could medicine expire? He sat mulling over this as he gazed down into his coffee mug at his dark reflection.  
  
"We leave at five tonight," Crawford was saying calmly, sprinkling salt sparingly on his eggs. Crawford was not one to over-use condiments. Nagi, stay with me. Schuldich, you and Farfarello will work together."  
  
Something whispered against Schuldich's mind, and he slammed his coffee mug down hard. Everyone stared at him. Schuldich gritted his teeth as he glared at the cool-faced American, struggling to keep down his rising panic. He was pretty sure Crawford had merely been telling him to keep an eye on the madman.  
  
But he hadn't HEARD him, damn it. Not one word! Crawford's mental voice, always so strong before, was a bare brush of air in the back of his consciousness. But of course he couldn't tell the others that. If they suspected...  
  
He felt a cold knot of nausea coil in his stomach, and rose abruptly to his feet. "I don't feel good," he said shortly in way of explanation, and hurried to the bathroom.  
  
He shut the door behind him and stared at his reflection, knuckles white as they gripped the sides of the sink. His lips were parted enough for his clenched teeth to show and he sucked in a deep breath of air with a hiss. What was wrong with his telepathy? Why was everything so faded and jumbled? Slowly he reached towards Farfarello's mind, grinding his teeth harder together at the pain it brought. All he could get from his teammate was quiet and an incoherent mess. Farfarello had always had the loudest mind of his team.  
  
"Fuck," he swore, drawing back. He bent over, resting his elbows on the sink and digging his fingers into his hair. Jade eyes glared at the shining porcelain before his face as if it somehow were to blame for this. Panic and anger warred together in his stomach, a violent churning deep in his gut.  
  
What the hell was going on? He took another deep breath and released it shakily.  
  
The door creaked open, and there was a quiet step on the tile floor. Schuldich raised his eyes to meet Crawford's steady gaze in the mirror.  
  
"If you're not up to this, you're not coming," the American said bluntly.  
  
Schuldich managed to dredge up a confident sneer, crushing his fears back where no one could sense them. "I'll be fine by tonight, don't you worry about that," he said in a voice that was actually steady. He was rather proud of that fact. He turned, lounging against the sink as he grinned at the older man. "Don't tell me you've lost your faith in me, Crawford. How disappointing."  
  
"Try not to be disappointing yourself tonight," the Oracle said dryly, and turned to go.  
  
"Is that an invitation?" Schuldich leered.  
  
Crawford flicked him an unamused glance and left.  
  
Schuldich remained behind for a few seconds longer, taking another deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. He forced himself to relax. He had told Crawford not to lose faith in his abilities as an assassin and telepath. He could not afford to, either.  
  
This would blow over.  
  
His gift would get better.  
  
It had to.  
  
*  
  
Yohji covered a loud yawn with one hand, draping himself over the counter and gazing blearily around the shop. They had reached a lull in the customers. While he was generally grateful to have a break from the cacophony, at least it had been harder to feel how tired he was when he had to pay attention to the girls. Now that there was nothing to do, he could feel his eyelids drooping. He sent a glance towards where Omi was watering one of the ferns, already knowing what the younger man would say if he turned around and caught Yohji sleeping at the register. At least Aya wasn't around...  
  
He let his eyes slide closed, deciding that he could fend off Omi's worried inquiries about his health. Omi would probably assume he was sick, though sometimes Yohji wondered if that was just a show. Nightmares were the more common source of sleepless nights, but Omi would never ask his teammates if that was why they wandered around the shop yawning or glaze-eyed.  
  
Yohji allowed a soft, content sigh to escape his lips, ready to pass out on the spot. The bell jingled then and he bit back a groan. ~Figures...~  
  
"Ohayoo gozaimasu, Manx-san," Omi greeted cheerfully.  
  
Yohji forced his eyes back open and pushed himself upright. "Well, well, my day's just gotten much better," he said, a smile curving his lips automatically at the sight of the redhead.  
  
She sent him an amused look. "Sorry to interrupt your nap, Yohji."  
  
"I think I'm still asleep, because you can't exist outside of a dream."  
  
"Lame, Yohji-kun," Omi teased, setting his watering can aside. Yohji grinned at his back. How was he expected to come up with anything good when he was so tired? The younger boy tugged at the knots of his apron. "You have something for us, Manx-san?"  
  
"I was starting to think you'd forgotten about us," Yohji said. "It's been almost a week."  
  
She flashed them a smile and Yohji blinked in surprise. She was in a good mood- because of the mission? Indeed, she waved a small folder at them and crossed the room, heading towards the basement. Green eyes flicked a curious glance around. "Your partners?" she asked as she tugged open the door.  
  
"Ken's fan club came for him and dragged him off to the fields to play," Yohji explained, flicking the sign on the front door to "On Break" before following Omi and Manx down the stairs. "Aya pulled the disappearing act again."  
  
She gave a nod and Yohji pushed the door closed behind them. She turned to face them as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, not even moving for them to drape themselves on the various furniture in the room, and offered the folder towards Omi. "We've finally been able to find an opening to get a shot at Kaltoa. The Higa-sen branch has to meet to discuss budgets and security. All four of them will have to be together. They will have bodyguards, of course, but this could be the opening we've been looking for."  
  
Yohji peered over Omi's shoulder as the boy flipped the folder open. Kaltoa...Kaltoa...Ah. He recognized their faces and could place the name. Kritiker had been wanting to take out that company for a long time. A miscalculation on their part had ruined the last mission Weiß had taken against the corporation. Ever since, the targets had been sitting pretty much on the back burners while Kritiker looked for a good second chance.  
  
Manx had a reason to look happy, then.  
  
"Be careful this time, Weiß," she requested. "This is short notice, I know. We almost missed them, but someone managed to hear that they were having a meeting. It's to be held this afternoon."  
  
"We'll take care of it," Omi assured her.  
  
She smiled again and offered a faint nod. "I will be expecting good news."  
  
"Would you expect anything else from us?" Yohji asked, flashing her a toothy grin before sending another glance towards the papers Omi was reading. The images of their four targets stared up at him with sullen expressions, photographs of them at various press conferences. A mission would be good. If he could wear himself out enough, there would be no trouble sleeping that night. If not, well...He would have a paycheck to drink himself to sleep with.  
  
*  
  
Schuldich pushed the car door shut behind him and tilted his head back to gaze up at the building they had just arrived at. His teammates were exiting the car as well, and Schuldich glanced over his shoulder at Crawford. The American met his gaze for a brief moment, honey brown eyes assessing. It was only from years of wearing the expression that Schuldich could curve his wide mouth into a smirk. Inside he still felt sick. The car ride over had been...suffocating. The headache had dropped back to being a dull pain but through the throbbing, one thing had been perfectly clear:  
  
The trip had been quiet.  
  
His mind had not carried Nagi's calm thoughts, nor had it been tangled in Farfarello's eagerness for the upcoming assassination. After spending most of his life riding around with the world in his brain, being privilege to only the faintest sensation of a humming in the back of his thoughts- a soft, nonsensical droning- was more than enough to bother him.  
  
To cover up his discomfort, he slipped on his familiar confident mask, turning to grin at Crawford and thrusting his hands in the pockets of the business pants he'd been ordered to wear. "So this is the place, eh? Nice."  
  
"It's just a hotel," Nagi pointed out, unimpressed as always. He glanced towards the car they had followed as their clients stepped out, straightening their ties and looking around a little nervously. Schuldich waved at them with a grin, and after a hesitation, the one in the lead beckoned, a silent command to follow.  
  
"Saa... follow the leader," Schuldich drolled, falling in with his group.  
  
Crawford led the way, as always, with the smirking German just two steps behind him. Farfarello walked behind him, his single golden eye taking in everything with a cold and calculating glance. Nagi was in the rear, ready to restrain Farfarello if necessary, or turn on any attacks from behind. They worked as a group, fell into the patterns and rhythms they had instinctively picked up around each other. In a sick way, they were almost like a family.  
  
The Addams Family, maybe, Schuldich thought, his grin widening.  
  
And as he walked in the strong security of his 'family', his unease melted into the background.  
  
They took the stairs up to their floor to avoid risk of elevator complications, even though Schuldich knew Crawford would see it coming if such a thing were going to happen. Crawford and Nagi joined the men in their room while Schuldich and Farfarello were left to wait in the hall. The German made a gesture for Farfarello to follow him and padded down the hall towards an open door that a nearby sign declared to be a lounge. He flopped down on the couch, propping his hands under his head and crossing his legs at the ankles, content to stretch out on his back and gaze at the ceiling. Hopefully this wouldn't take long.  
  
Not that he would know when it finished, or what was going on in the room...  
  
He shoved those thoughts quickly away, humming a German tune under his breath. Farfarello was standing off to one side, long fingers picking idly at the threads of a fuzzy, oversized arm chair. A neutral silence fell between them, and Schuldich let his eyes slide closed.  
  
Things should get interesting sooner or later-- Crawford had experienced a vision on the way over. Evidently Weiss would be making an appearance.  
  
Shocker.  
  
He began experimenting, stretching outward with his senses, searching for the thoughts of their clients. It unnerved him that even the low droning was gone unless he actively searched for it, now. Still, the thoughts of the men next door were muddled and incoherent.  
  
It was getting worse, he realized with a jolt, then clamped down on that thought and cracked an eye open to peer at Farfarello. He had no way of knowing anymore if some of his more insistent thoughts were audible in the bond.  
  
And if Crawford found out...  
  
If Rosenkreuz found out...  
  
He shuddered at the thought, then covered his uneasiness with a sneer and resettled himself on the cushions. There was no use thinking about things like that. Rosenkreuz wouldn't find out; he wouldn't let them. It was that simple.  
  
Simple...Right. He glanced up as his teammate crossed the room, watching as the Irishman sought out a new way to entertain himself. Apparently the threads weren't fascinating enough. The teenager stopped by the window and gazed outwards, silver flickering in his hands as he produced a knife from one of the many hiding places on his person. Fingertips brushed over the gleaming metal almost reverently, as if Farfarello was already imagining its clean surface stained with blood. The younger man was looking forward to Weiß's appearance...Any opponent would do, actually. It wasn't as if Schwarz would ever kill the other group; they were too useful as fall guys and to do the work Schwarz didn't feel like accepting.  
  
Not to mention that they were highly amusing.  
  
He stopped himself just in time from calling to his teammate mentally. He didn't need to make his headache reemerge. "Oi, Farf," he said lazily, hooking a leg over the couch arm. "Why don't you see how that nice curtain looks in little strips?"  
  
The Irishman turned slightly to study the thick, expensive drapes covering the window, fondling his knife. Without a word he strode over and seized a fistful of the soft cloth and methodically began cutting it into long tatters. Schuldich laughed.  
  
~What are you doing?~  
  
He nearly fell from his chair at the sharp jab of pain that accompanied that thought. He hissed a German curse, clutching his head tightly in his hands and bending over. Across the room, Farfarello glanced over at him in mild curiosity.  
  
It took Schuldich a few moments to place the owner behind the voice. He managed to regain his dignity as the headache slowly ebbed. Crawford. Little bastard. It would figure that only that man would be able to get a direct thought through his fuzzy senses.  
  
~Just waiting,~ he sent back as casually as he could, gritting his teeth at the pain. ~Go away.~  
  
Surprisingly, Crawford withdrew.  
  
Schuldich offered up silent thanks for small mercies. Farfarello continued to gaze at him for a moment longer, and Schuldich met his stare with his best "What are you looking at?" expression on. Farfarello said nothing, and silence fell between them. There was something penetrating about Farfarello's stare, and Schuldich fought back the urge to shift uneasily under his teammate's scrutiny. When the staring dragged on, however, the older assassin rose to his feet and stretched. Farfarello continued to watch him as he padded out of the room.  
  
He thought they had passed a water fountain when arriving on the hall, and he set off in search of it now. One hand rummaged in his pocket for his medicine bottle and he grimly shook a few into his open palm. They weren't working well so far, but somehow he felt that the act of taking medicine should do something. It worked for other things. What was that called- the placebo effect? If people could take sugar pills and think they felt better, he should be able to take real drugs and get _something_ from it. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, though; his bottle was starting to look empty.  
  
He finally spotted the water fountain and leaned against the button. As he was lowering his head to the water he heard another door open and glanced up. One of their clients was exiting the room and moving the opposite direction down the hall. Schuldich turned back to his task at hand and quickly swallowed the three pills. As he was straightening and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, there was a gurgle and a thud at the other end of the hall. He shot a quick look that way to see their client sprawled on the ground, with Siberian of Weiß standing over his bloody body.  
  
Schuldich couldn't hide the quick look of surprise that flitted over his face as he stepped back from the fountain to lock eyes with the panting assassin.  
  
Siberian was watching him warily, claws held ready for offense or defense. Schuldich pasted on a sneer, though his stomach lurched with a sick feeling at the realization that he hadn't sensed the other's arrival at all. "Well, well, well," he said drolly. "Look what the cat dragged in."  
  
"Schwarz," the younger boy spat, and Schuldich noticed the mouthpiece he was wearing. Ah, no good. Soon all his other little flower friends would be here to help. He moved forward with frightening speed, watching smugly as the white assassin's eyes widened in surprise. He reached up with one hand to yank the com away, bringing his other arm down hard to deflect Siberian's instinctive upper-cut. "Naughty naughty," he tsked, and pushed the other boy roughly.  
  
Ken stumbled back, hitting the wall behind him with a grunt.  
  
Schuldich tossed the headpiece aside negligently. No need to get a headache by alerting his teammates to this interruption. He could handle this on his own. He grinned widely at the wary boy before him. "So you've come to play. How nice. You're not too well mannered, are you? I'll have to get Farf to declaw you sometime."  
  
"Out of the way!" Ken shouted, leaping for him.  
  
Schuldich evaded him with pathetic ease, watching him lunge past before elbowing him in the back.  
  
Hard.  
  
The boy cried out and landed clumsily. A door opened slowly, and the Berserker stepped out into the hallway, alerted by the noise. He gazed down at the sprawled boy with a hungry gleam in his eye, knife spinning idly in his hand. "God's angels have come to play," he murmured.  
  
Ken scrambled to his feet, quickly putting his back against a wall and glancing to each of them with wild eyes.  
  
Schuldich let a lazy grin spread on his lips, even as his thoughts were racing. Ken had gotten off a warning to his teammates, and they would soon be on the way. He started towards Ken, keeping a measured pace as if he had all the time in the world. In truth, he had very little time at all. He hadn't heard Ken coming; he wouldn't hear the others. He lifted a hand, and both assassins looked towards him.  
  
"Why don't you go scrounge up the rest of the kitties?" Schuldich asked his teammate, keeping an amused look trained on Ken. "There are more scampering around to hunt."  
  
Farfarello trailed the tip of his knife across his full lips, sparing only a moment for consideration before disappearing down the hall on silent footsteps. Schuldich glanced over his shoulder as he left but did not keep his eyes off of his opponent for long, not when he could not anticipate an attack. Schuldich had to use Farfarello as a buffer between Weiß and him, as irritating as that admission was. The German had long relied on his gift to give him the advantage in battle, whereas Farfarello used his senses.  
  
"Now then," Schuldich said, letting the smirk stretch wider on his lips as he turned his full attention on Ken.  
  
Ken brought his claws up in a defensive posture, edging slowly towards the side, never taking his eyes from his enemy. Schuldich glanced to the side at the room his prey was trying to get to. Of course. The clients. He grinned at the boy. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. "I thought we were going to play."  
  
"Kisama," Ken growled, and leapt for him, swinging his claws in a deadly swipe.  
  
Schuldich ducked and seized his arm, using the other boy's momentum to send him yelling into the water fountain.  
  
"Ouch," he said with false sympathy as Ken struggled to his hands and knees. "That had to hurt. You're not a very good dance part-"  
  
Something wrapped around his torso from behind, tightening faster than thought and bringing a quick gasp of pain from his lips. He twisted around, glaring at the man who had just emerged from around the corner, breathing hard, his fists tightened on his wire.  
  
"Caught you off guard, Schwarz?" Balinese growled, giving his wires a sharp tug. Schuldich winced as the pain intensified, the wire cutting through clothes into skin. He forced himself to grin at the other man impudently.  
  
"Another lost kitten. Don't you have anything better to do than waste my time, Weiß?" Then he leapt backwards.  
  
Yohji cursed, yanking his arms up in a frantic attempt to regain the tautness of the wire, but his enemy was too fast. Schuldich slipped his fingers under the wire that was wrapped around him and twisted, racing to get it off of him before Yohji could pull it tight again. The other assassin barely had enough time to dodge the fist that came for his face, but he couldn't avoid the next blow and went stumbling back.  
  
"Tsk tsk tsk." Schuldich shook his head at the other man, fingering his clothes. "You've gone and gotten my clothes dirty. Do you have any idea how much the cleaning bill is going to be?" His grin curled into a smirk as he watched Yohji ready himself for an attack. "Not as much, of course, as it will cost your friends to get put back together after Farfarello is through with them."  
  
"Go to hell!" Yohji snarled, leaping forward.  
  
There was a crash behind them. Yohji faltered midjump and Schuldich spared the quickest of glances over his shoulder. He had forgotten about Ken for just a moment; he had allowed the other man to get between him and Schwarz's clients. Now said assassin was crumpled against the wall opposite the room Crawford and Nagi were still in. There was a Ken shaped indent above his head and he let out a quiet groan.  
  
~Go to hell, hm?~ Schuldich mused. ~Crawford's going to reserve a seat for me personally.~  
  
Nagi stepped calmly from the room, gazing down at Ken with cold indifference. Behind him, the clients were in a frenzy- probably angry now that the initial fright was gone that the assassin had been allowed to get so close.  
  
Schuldich took a step back so he could keep an eye on Yohji as he grinned at his partner. "Good throw, chibi."  
  
Nagi flicked him a scornful glance, and there was a murmur in Schuldich's mind. The German shrugged it off- it was probably a reprimand -and flapped his hand airily. "Maa, maa, chibi. I'm busy."  
  
"Ken," Yohji called, "daijabou??"  
  
Siberian picked himself painfully to his feet, glaring at the younger boy before him. Nagi gazed calmly back for an instant, then Ken was quite suddenly hurled down the hall towards the steps.  
  
"KEN!" Yohji shouted, instinctively making as if to run for him. Schuldich stepped quickly in front of him, grinning widely.  
  
"Not so fast, kätzchen. We're not through playing, yet."  
  
Ken seized the banister as he started to tumble down the stairs, his curses floating up to them. For some reason Schuldich found that funny, and laughed. Yohji's face contorted in hate.  
  
Schuldich's laughter cut off abruptly when a fist crashed into his face with enough force to send the telepath stumbling backwards. One hand instinctively grabbed the water fountain for balance and his eyes flew open wide, disbelief flickering on his face for a moment as he struggled to digest the fact that Yohji had just hit him. The other man seemed just as shocked by it as he, and a startled moment of silence passed between them. Schuldich reached up slowly to touch his face, fingering his cheek gingerly. That was going to bruise.  
  
Jade eyes narrowed and irritation flared. Frustration, confusion, and anger all rolled into one. Everything had been off-balance and rolling rapidly downhill since he had woken up this morning, and he had had enough. His lips thinned to a flat line and he leapt forward. Yohji could not match his speed and could hardly defend himself from the blows. Schuldich hooked his foot behind Yohji's ankle and kicked out, knocking the man's feet out from under him. He dealt the man's body a fierce kick as soon as he hit the ground before straddling the man's back and closing his fingers around Yohji's throat.  
  
Crawford's voice snapped like a whip, freezing him more effectively than any weapon. "Schuldich. That's enough."  
  
He turned to glare at the older man standing in the lounge doorway, watching him with a cool eye. "Get rid of him." Behind him, Nagi was calmly escorting the clients towards the stairs where Ken was getting unsteadily to his feet. "The location is being changed." He turned and followed the group of nervous clients. Nagi sent a brief, disinterested look towards Ken. The other man suddenly hit the hall behind him with a sound that was part thud and part crack before crumpling to the ground. He didn't get back up.  
  
Schuldich's lips curled in a silent snarl of frustration as he returned his narrowed gaze to the struggling man underneath him.  
  
"Balinese, can you hear me?" a worried voice asked over the com Yohji was wearing. Bombay. "There's a helicopter landing on the roof- are the targets taken care of?"  
  
Schuldich kept one hand firmly wrapped around his prey's neck, pressing his face brutally into the carpet and snatching the earpiece away with the other, raising it to his mouth, forcing his voice to sound light and condescending. "Sorry, Playboy isn't in right now. Please leave a message." He heard a sputtered exclamation of surprise and tossed the piece over his shoulder, attention back on the man he had trapped under his weight. "That was a lucky shot, Scheiße kopf. And a mistake. Unfortunately, I don't have time to play with you right now." Gritting his teeth in preparation for the pain, he sent out a quick thought. ~Come back, Farf.~  
  
Fierce pain flared, and then something frightening happened.  
  
Everything went silent.  
  
No murmuring, no dull hum in the background.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Nausea struck out of nowhere and he fought back the violent urge to retch, rising to his feet. He gave Yohji another kick just for good measure before turning towards the stairs. As he started to rise he sent a quick look back, making sure the man wasn't coming. Balinese was on his hands and knees, fingers gingerly touching the side Schuldich's shoe had befriended. The other man sent him one last acid look before turning his gaze elsewhere, calling out a concerned "Ken?" Then he was out of view as Schuldich turned onto the next flight.  
  
He stopped halfway up the stairs, unable to stop the shudder that ran through his frame. He folded his arms tightly over his chest, leaning slightly against the railing as he stared towards the ground with unseeing eyes. He was shaking now and he fought to control it. The silence was deafeningly loud in his mind; all he could hear were his own thoughts, and they were clearer now than they had ever been before.  
  
For the first time in his life, Schuldich was the only one home upstairs.  
  
And he didn't like it one damn bit.  
  
End Chapter 1  
  
Translations:  
das Schweigen brechen : to break the silence  
Scheiße kopf: shit head 


	2. The Echoes of Silence

das Schweigen brechen  
~by Amiko and Mami~  
  
*****  
  
To break the silence, it takes a scream...  
  
*****  
  
The ride home was silent. Schuldich sat in the passenger seat, gazing at his reflection on the window. Now and then the streetlamps they passed would cast a glare across the glass, wiping out his image. He was patient in waiting for it to return, keeping his eyes fixed on the spot where his mirror's eyes would meet his. It was an oppressive quiet that had settled between them. Schuldich knew better than to open his mouth and break the stillness; Crawford was going to be mad enough without him trying to make a witty remark.  
  
But it was too quiet. He couldn't stand the silence. If he couldn't say something, he wanted someone else to- but no one did. One hand clenched convulsively in his lap as the glass lit up with a flash of orange light. All he wanted was to be out of this car and away from this stillness, before it swallowed him whole. Once he had wanted nothing more than silence. Once, long ago, that desire had nearly consumed him. Then he had accepted the fact that the voices would never go away, and he had accepted the chaos and madness of his mind. Now he had what he had long ago craved, and he felt he was going to go mad if someone didn't make some sort of noise.  
  
Just when he had decided to risk Crawford's wrath by opening his mouth, they reached their flat. Schuldich was the first one out of the car and he stood outside of the vehicle, inhaling the night air deeply.  
  
He refused to make eye contact with his teammates as they exited the car, knowing already the accusation that hung heavy on their gazes. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to look as nonchalant as possible as he followed them to the front door. He tried to make a beeline for his room the minute he stepped inside, but Farfarello cut him off, gazing up at him with a gleam in his eye.  
  
"Sit down, Schuldich," Crawford said quietly but firmly from behind him.  
  
Schuldich bit back his uneasiness and turned to offer the American a forced grin. "It's time for my beauty sle--"  
  
"Sit down," Crawford said again, glasses flashing.  
  
Nagi glanced towards the unresponsive German, and Schuldich toppled backwards onto the couch, sputtering a foreign curse.  
  
He felt suddenly trapped. They stood around him, faces closed off, eyes digging into him. Farfarello stood just behind the couch, toying with his knife, while Nagi stood a little to the side, ready to hold Schuldich down with his gift if needed.  
  
Crawford moved to stand directly in front of him, towering over the seated telepath. "You have some explaining to do," he pointed out in a hard voice. "You almost cost us the mission."  
  
"Why didn't you warn us Weiß was that close?" Nagi demanded quietly.  
  
Crawford flicked him a look, and Nagi subsided.  
  
Schuldich opened his mouth and shut it again soundlessly. He could not tear his eyes from Crawford's for a long moment as his thoughts raced. He balked at the thought of lying outright, and besides, Crawford's eyes told him that even trying to evade the truth would get him in more trouble than he wanted. A tense silence fell between them. Crawford's expression was the epitome of patience, but his eyes were cold. Schuldich finally managed to break the stare. Instead of glancing to one side, however, he found his eyes dropping to his lap. His gaze studied the blood that stained his clothes.  
  
"One of our clients is dead, Schuldich," Crawford said, "and you're a mess."  
  
One of Schuldich's hands lifted off its own accord to touch his face gingerly, fingers brushing over the spot where Yohji had hit him. He dropped his hand quickly and heard a rattle as he hit his pill bottle through his jacket. Crawford's eyes lowered at the sound, lingering on Schuldich's pocket long enough that it was obvious Crawford wanted to know what medicine Schuldich had been carrying around. He reluctantly drew it free and let it lay in his palm, gazing at the label and knowing how much having this with him added to the trouble he was in.  
  
"How could you do that?" Nagi demanded, unable to keep quiet. "Even this-" he waved his hand towards his head vaguely, eyes boring into Schuldich accusingly, "is gone. What's wrong with you?"  
  
Schuldich was startled at that. It hadn't even occured to him that he might bring the bond connecting all their minds down if his own collapsed.  
  
Then he took a quick look at the anger churning just under the surface of his teammates and got another shock.  
  
They thought he had betrayed them.  
  
They thought he had deliberately allowed Siberian to get around him and had cut the mental bond between them to give the Weiß assassin time to get the job done.  
  
"You've got to be joking," he blurted without thinking.  
  
"Joking?" Farfarello mumured, toying suggestively with his knife.  
  
"Joking about what?" Nagi snapped. He was obviously upset, an uncharacteristic attitude in the young boy that made Schuldich nervous.  
  
"You think I did this shit on purpose?" he growled, shooting a glare towards each of them. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
"You," Crawford said, voice quiet but hard, "are what is wrong, and you are going to tell us why you failed." He reached out and took Schuldich's medicine from him. It was obvious what the pills were for, but he still tilted the bottle to one side and raked the label with his eyes. "We will start with why Siberian was able to kill Nakano."  
  
"He left the room," Schuldich answered, unable to keep a sullen edge from his voice as he fixed his gaze on the medicine in Crawford's fingers. He couldn't decide if he was feeling irritated or ill that Schwarz thought he would do such a thing to them. He always pushed at the lines within their group and among their authorities. They knew he loved to play games and he gambled where the highest stakes were. But to think that he would truly turn on Schwarz...  
  
They were silent, and he realized they were waiting for him to continue. "I was at the other end of the hall. Siberian got to him first."  
  
"Do you think that highly of yourself, Schuldich, that you would allow so much space between one of our clients and you when Weiß is around?" Crawford asked.  
  
Schuldich's lips thinned to a hard line and he swallowed the annoyed retort that he _was_ good enough to do that...Or he would have been if he had still had his gift. Silence stretched between them. What could he say? How could he tell them that the talent that made him Schuldich and had put him where he was today had gone silent? He was still trying to come to terms with it and the ramifications of such a loss.  
  
"Put it back up." The German looked up slowly, meeting Crawford's stare a bit apprehensively. "Put the bond," Crawford said again, "back up."  
  
Schuldich had a private internal war with his pride and his smouldering fear at that point. If he told his team that his gift was no longer in his control, he would be useless for the most part. True, he still had his speed, and he was no helpless punk in a fight- but Schwarz relied on his mental probing as heavily as they depended on Crawford's visions.  
  
That thought in itself brought up a question: Why hadn't Crawford forseen this sudden lapse in his German partner's talents? Though, to be fair, because it was a silent, invisible problem, any hint the clairvoiyant could have seen probably wouldn't have made much sense at the time. But shouldn't he have forseen Schuldich's incompetence and seeming "betrayal"?  
  
THAT brought Schuldich up short. If Crawford had had these visions of what appeared to be betrayal, why hadn't he acted on them? Why had Siberian been able to get into the room in the first place?  
  
Had Crawford been hesitant to believe what his visions were telling him? Had he come to trust his teammates so much that he thought them incapable of betrayal anymore?  
  
That was the stupidest idea Schuldich had ever had, and he squashed it quickly. Crawford didn't give a damn about the team when it came down to it. Nagi might see this team as some kind of warped "family", and Schuldich might instinctively see some bonds tying them together, but Crawford didn't give a rat's ass about anyone but number one.  
  
But, for the sake of argument, if this ludacris thought was right, having the vision of Schuldich's "betrayal" would account for most of the anger the American was directing his way. Crawford had been betrayed by one he had learned to grudgingly trust, and he was rightfully furious-- at himself as well as Schuldich.  
  
"I'm waiting, Schuldich," Crawford said in tones of steel.  
  
Schuldich gritted his teeth and glared up at him defiantly, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I can't," he grated out.  
  
Crawford's mouth twitched into the faintest of frowns. "You can't or you won't?"  
  
Schuldich took a deep breath, fingers clenching just briefly on his upper arms. "Can't," he said, and he wanted to choke on the word. It was all he could do to hold Crawford's gaze. Silence stretched between them. He could feel Farfarello's sharp, intent gaze on him, and Nagi's eyes had narrowed slightly in surprise and confusion.  
  
"Get up."  
  
Schuldich stared blankly up at Crawford for a few moments before rising to his feet. Crawford cast a brief look towards their other teammates before turning and exiting the room. Schuldich glanced towards the younger two, taking in their expressions, before following behind the precognitive out of the room. Crawford pushed open the door to his office and Schuldich stepped in first. Crawford entered right behind him, closing the door firmly behind them.  
  
Schuldich firmly squashed the beginnings of nervousness, crossing the room to stand by Crawford's desk. He turned to face the older assassin and let himself lean backwards slightly, using it as a support. Silence fell between them, and Schuldich knew the Oracle was waiting for him to speak first and explain this. He crossed his arms over his chest again, looser that before, somehow feeling less on the defensive now that it had been narrowed down to just the two of them.  
  
"Something's wrong with…" Schuldich tilted his head slightly in obvious indication of his gift, watching his partner closely, "this."  
  
Crawford remained silent, face emotionless.  
  
Schuldich bulled on, a part of him relieved to get the whole business off his chest while at the same time his mind was screaming at him that he was signing his own death warrant. "Last night the whole headache bullshit was making it hard to hear anything any of you were saying in the bond. It's been getting worse, and during the mission it just…" he shrugged, feeling trapped and hating it, "stopped working."  
  
"Stopped," Crawford repeated.  
  
"It's...just me," Schuldich answered, tucking loose hair behind his ear out of the need to do something with his hands. He pressed his palms against the desk to either side of him. "I can't hear anything except my own thoughts. I can't even feel a distant presence of anyone else around me." He took in Crawford's closed off expression. "It could just be temporary."  
  
"Temporary."  
  
This whole parroting shit was really starting to get on Schuldich's last nerves.  
  
Crawford reached up slowly to remove his glasses, polishing them on his shirt and gazing at his partner with an unreadable expression on his face. "What if it isn't, Schuldich?" he asked calmly, and there was an almost-threat to the undertone. "You won't be any use to Rosenkreuz anymore if you're just another man with a smart mouth. And you know too much."  
  
Schuldich's stomach tightened in cold knots, but he couldn't trust himself to speak. He glared silently at the other man, letting the acid look speak for him. Did Crawford think he didn't _know_ that? Schuldich's telepathy was all he had. There was his gift of speed, but that was a practically useless talent.  
  
"Why didn't you bring it up sooner?" Crawford asked coolly.  
  
"I thought it was the hangover," Schuldich snapped defensively, his eyes narrowing at the older man. "How the hell did you expect me to anticipate something like THIS?"  
  
Crawford was silent for a moment as he digested this information. "So you can't use It at all," he concluded calmly.  
  
Schuldich's lip curled, but he decided that he didn't need to vocally state the obvious.  
  
"You know what this means," Crawford continued, still with that infuriating calm, the gleam on his glasses hiding his eyes, his mouth firmed slightly.  
  
Schuldich tensed. "No shit, Sherlock," he spat. He had the sudden, immature urge to break something. Or somebody. His fingers tightened on the desk and silence fell between them. Nausea rolled in his gut and he took a deep breath, holding it for several long seconds. What would happen to him when Crawford filed the report with Rosenkreuz? How would they react to the news of one of their strongest telepaths just suddenly blanking out? They would not be happy. But what would they do?  
  
The most obvious path was dismissal, and just the thought of that was enough to make his blood run cold.  
  
Six years ago, when he had first been assigned to Crawford, he had just barely begun to realize what a life with Schwarz would offer- the power, the prestige, the money, the entertainment, the commitment. Everything had been given him in exchange for his gift. He had never thought that he would be watching it all crash down around him. He had never thought that it would come to this; he had never thought it possible.  
  
"You are more trouble than you're worth," Crawford said at last.  
  
Schuldich managed to dredge up a smirk. "I'll bet you say that to all the guys."  
  
Crawford reached up with his index finger to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and for an instant Schuldich could see his eyes: narrowed slightly as if in thought or annoyance, but not burning with hatred or triumph. That gave him a moment's pause. He stared dumbly at his partner even as the American spoke to him calmly.  
  
"You would be completely worthless to us if you hadn't had training in other areas. I'm going to assume your entire brain didn't depart with your talent and you can still cooperate as an assassin and a fighter?"  
  
What the hell was this? Was Crawford actually thinking about trying to keep him on the team? Crawford was staring at him, waiting for an answer. "J-ja," he said quickly, knowing his eyes were clouded with wary puzzlement. A glimmer of hope began to burn inside of him. Was Crawford hinting that he wouldn't turn him in? Masaka.  
  
He had thought Crawford would jump at the opportunity to rid himself of the German; Schuldich had always been the troublemaker of the group. Now that the opening was there, was Crawford really going to walk right by it? It didn't make any sense, but he knew better than to question the American. Hell, if Crawford was choosing to keep him here instead of sending him to Rosenkreuz, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know why. He just cared that it was happening.  
  
Rosenkreuz would hear that the job had had a glitch, however, once there was a complaint filed about Nakano's assassination. Kaltoa was likely to pitch a fit, since they had been promised protection by the Germany-based organization. When Rosenkreuz sought some sort of explanation, what was going to happen? Crawford had implied that Schuldich would stay on with Schwarz, which meant the "why" of Siberian's success would have be changed.  
  
He realized belatedly he was jumping to conclusions and studied the tall American dubiously. Was he being too hopeful? Maybe Crawford planned to turn him in after all, but would put in a good word for him or something? Surely Crawford didn't feel he was worth the trouble to lie to Rosenkreuz itself. He shuddered involuntarily just at the thought of what would happen to him when- if -the four men of that group found out that one of their top Talents had become useless. Crawford had always been a hard man to read, but this time it was a life or death decision the older man was making. The guessing was driving Schuldich crazy. He felt like he was balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff, with Crawford standing a mere foot away, contemplating whether to pull him back up or not.  
  
"So what's the deal, then?" he asked as casually as he could, trying to look unconcerned. "Now you know. So what are you going to do about it?"  
  
Crawford's mouth curved in a tiny smirk that instantly had Schuldich on his guard. "You mean what are YOU going to do about it."  
  
Schuldich blinked, nonplussed. "Huh?"  
  
"Are you worth the aggravation to keep around?" Crawford asked bluntly.  
  
"Prove myself, you mean?" Schuldich asked with a slight sneer. "If you think I'm helpless just because I can't dig someone's brains out, you're not as observant as I thought."  
  
"Maybe," Crawford said mysteriously, still wearing that infuriating half-smirk. With that, he turned and moved towards the door.  
  
Schuldich lingered behind, watching as the taller assassin let himself out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut he let himself sag further against the desk. Was he drawing the right conclusions from this? Would Crawford really keep Schuldich if he was "worth the aggravation"? What was in it for the precognitive? Why would he bother keeping Schuldich with the team if he were practically Talentless? Farfarello had no gift, but he was an incredible killer.  
  
Why would Crawford want another giftless assassin on his hands?  
  
The predictable thing for Crawford to do would be to turn Schuldich in. Schuldich was sickened by the suggestion, but still- it was what he had figured Crawford's most likely path to be. Crawford seemed to be taking the other route, though, without a satisfying explanation. It was always what Crawford didn't say that could deal the most damage, and now Schuldich wondered if it was safer when Crawford was predictable.  
  
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," he muttered to himself, and pulled on his confident mask before strolling into the den with mock casualness to face his team.  
  
***  
  
Yohji wanted a cigarette.  
  
He lounged in the beat-up old couch in the basement of the Koneko no Sumu Ie, squinting up at Aya, who had chosen- probably on purpose, the little shit -to stand in front of a lamp. Yohji turned his head away, playing with his lighter idly. "So he's okay?"  
  
"Aa." Aya stood with his arms loosely crossed, his face set in its beautiful yet stony mask. He had just returned from the hospital a few minutes ago and had pulled the remaining members of his team downstairs to debrief them. "They said he had a broken arm and a slight concussion. He'll have to stay there overnight."  
  
"Manx won't be happy," Omi sighed, sitting up straight in his chair and looking at the two older men solemnly. "She's been waiting for the opportunity to get to Kaltoa for a long time."  
  
Yohji scowled at his lighter. "If that damned German hadn't stopped me, I might've been able to help Ken. At least he managed to kill one of them." He looked to Aya. "Didn't you injure another as they were getting in the 'copter?"  
  
Aya's eyes were chips of violet ice. "Aa. Crawford lifted him into the helicopter before I could finish the job." It was pretty obvious how displeased Aya was about that. He burned with a hatred for the dark-haired American that could almost rival his hatred for Taketori. Almost.  
  
Yohji gave a shake of his head, flicking his lighter open. The mission had been a failure; once again Weiß had been unable to take Kaltoa out. They were damned lucky that Ken had managed to kill one of the bastards, especially since Schwarz had been guarding them. Giving a disgusted sigh, he clicked the lighter to allow a flame to dance around, green eyes gazing at the fire. The only satisfaction he could get out of the night was the fact that he had gotten the drop on Schuldich, but even that had come at a price...He lifted one hand to brush fingers along the bandages around his middle. He had some spectacular bruises and the foreign assassin had almost broken a rib with the vicious kicks he had dealt Yohji's side.  
  
Yohji slowly closed the lid of the lighter, lowering his arm to dangle it off the side of the chair as he gazed at nothing. But he _had_ gotten a strike in on Schuldich. That was a first. Hell, he'd hurt the German twice. A self-satisfied smirk curled his lips as he remembered the look on Schuldich's face when Yohji had decked him.  
  
~Didn't hear _that_ coming, now did you?~ he mused.  
  
And that in itself was unusual.  
  
***  
  
Whatever Crawford had said to Nagi and Farfarello, they didn't bring up the bond or the mission again that night. Schuldich was grateful enough for that- not that he would admit it in a million years.  
  
He sat at the table with his close-mouthed teammates, trying to tell himself that he wasn't bothered by the oppressive silence that made his own thoughts so loud. He reached up absently to trace his fingers across his bruised face, frowning down at his untouched food, shaping the spaghetti noodles into a contorted face with his fork.  
  
"If you're going to just play with your food, throw it out," Nagi said tersely.  
  
Schuldich rolled his eyes at the younger boy. "Yes, Mommy." Just to get on the younger boy's nerves, he began nibbling on one noodle.  
  
Farfarello was nearly finished with his plain noodles already- they had made the mistake of giving him spaghetti sauce one time for his pasta, and would never do so again. Something that looked that close to blood clots only made the Irishman restless for another kill.  
  
Schuldich let the noodle fall back to his plate, not interested in finishing his meal. He didn't think he could stay in this room much longer, not with the quiet that hung between them. He needed noise. He pushed the rest of his dinner into a pile in the middle of his plate and rose from his chair. His teammates glanced towards him but said nothing. Nagi's mouth thinned to a hard line briefly as he turned back to his own meal.  
  
Schuldich raised an eyebrow at him before carrying his plate towards the sink. "You're the one that told me to dump the food, so don't make that face." He rinsed his pasta down the sink and flicked on the garbage disposal, looking over his shoulder at the youngest of Schwarz.  
  
Nagi opened his mouth, then closed it with a small shake of his head. Schuldich turned back to the task at hand. He finished rinsing his plate and set it in the dishwasher before padding from the room. He could feel eyes on him as he went but did not look back. He found himself in the living room and leaned against the back of the couch, running over his options. He wanted something loud, some source of noise. There was the television, there was music, and there was the nightlife. He considered each option, trying to determine which one would prove best.  
  
Well, going to a club was definitely out of the question-since that was where he'd been when his gift had decided to fuck up. He plucked disconsolately at his shirt. Maybe he'd go shopping. It would take his mind off of things and… He allowed himself to grin ruefully. It would be interesting to be able to make his way through the streets of Tokyo without a million thoughts blaring in his mind, interrupting his own train of thought. He'd go nuts if he had to sit around for the rest of the night and listen to the oppressive silence of his teammates.  
  
He shifted so that he could dig his wallet out of his back pocket, opening it and counting the money inside. Damn, he'd have to stop by an ATM on the way. He rose fluidly to his feet and tucked the wallet back in his pocket, offering a saucy grin as Farfarello padded into the den, finished with his meal. "I'm going shopping," he said casually. "Don't burn the house down while I'm away."  
  
He was halfway to the door when Crawford's voice stopped him. "Where are you going?"  
  
Schuldich hesitated, turning slightly to regard the man in the kitchen doorway. What a pain it was to repeat himself. He'd never had to do that in the bond. He forced himself to grin. "Just goin' shopping. I'll be good," he promised sarcastically.  
  
Crawford frowned, as if debating whether or not he should allow the younger man to leave, then turned and walked back into the kitchen dismissively. "Don't drink."  
  
"Ja ja," Schuldich said, rolling his eyes. "Don't wait up," he teased, and left the flat quickly before Crawford could think of a reason to keep him there.  
  
Long strides carried him away from the flat. He had only the changing scenery to tell him he was going anywhere; the thoughts of his teammates that should have been fading as the distance between him and them grew were absent. He caught himself glancing over his shoulder once to make sure he was actually leaving and gave a disgusted little snort at the gesture before fixing his eyes firmly forward.  
  
At length he arrived at a busy street. He remained where he was for a few moments, staring out at the people with a feeling that might have been the beginnings of awe. They were everywhere, laughing, talking, a few yelling. There was the occasional honk of a horn that rose above the noise, and in the distance he could hear music playing. He reached out, closing his fingers around a pole for a street sign, and let himself rest against it for a few long moments. Jade eyes that were slightly wider than usual moved slowly over the throng of people.  
  
So much noise, so many people...  
  
But his thoughts remained intact. He let out a shaky laugh, fingers tightening on the pole. How strange...It sent a strange thrill down his spine, to see and hear so much and yet hear his own thoughts so clearly.  
  
He pushed himself away from the pole and continued down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. People didn't even give him a second glance, busy in their own tasks as they hurried along the sidwalk, chattering noisily to each other. The night was still young and already Schuldich could spot some of the partyers strutting towards the clubs in flashy clothes, confident in their immortality as they moved along in small packs.  
  
He didn't bother to head for the subway or catch a cab-- the clothing store he usually visited was only a fifteen minute walk, and he found himself enjoying the sights of the city without the blaring thoughts of its many citizens invading his head. He remembered that he needed to visit an ATM belatedly and came to a stop, arrogantly forcing the crowd to slip around him rather than get out of their way as he looked around for a machine.  
  
He spotted one across the street and turned unthinkingly to cross, a habit he had developed as an amusement. He could always convince the drivers to stop if he needed to.  
  
His right foot was actually off the curb when reality smacked him full in the face. A car sped by noisily, dangerously close, and he snatched his foot back as if it'd been burned.  
  
Damn.  
  
He could no longer be as careless and cocky as he was used to. Without the advantage of his gift, he was almost like any other ordinary person. Almost.  
  
He glanced around, finally making his way to where a clump of people were waiting to cross the street. ~How annoying,~ he mused, lips pulled into a faint frown as his eyes watched the busy road. This new change was going to take some getting used to. No; scratch that. He didn't want to get used to it. He didn't want to think that he would be Deaf long enough that he would have time to get used to things like this.  
  
The cars slowed then and the post on the opposite street lit up green. Schuldich moved with the crowd as they picked their way across the crosswalk, letting their words flow against his ears but never into his mind. He separated himself from them at the other sidewalk and moved towards the ATM. There was a long line, he noticed with faint disgust, and debated his options. He was patient when he wanted to be and rarely when he had to be. On any other day he would have shifted the line so that he was in front.  
  
Somehow he doubted that was going to happen tonight. Fighting annoyance at the inconvenience, he tagged himself onto the end of the line, inching up when it moved. It seemed like forever before he had made it to the front, and he made sure to take his time getting his cash, irritating the people waiting behind him to make himself feel better. In a somewhat better mood, he flicked a smirk towards the line as he gathered his money and turned to go.  
  
What he saw made him pause for a moment. The expressions were placid, if some were a few strained. The polite mask the Japanese loved to wear in public held now, and for once Schuldich was not privy to the thoughts beneath them. For a moment, it was as if they truly did not care that he had taken so long; it was as if they were reassured that he had a reasonable excuse for being so slow at the machine. Some had used to attribute it to the fact that he was a foreigner and assumed that he just couldn't read the Japanese. Others had been burning with annoyance. But from looking at these people, there was no sign of either amused resignation or anger.  
  
That was beyond strange. Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, Schuldich took a couple steps back before turning and starting away. Now the words that rocked against his ears were different; they were different from the voices he was so used to. He was used to looking past what was spoken to hear what was really going on.  
  
He'd pulled out almost a hundred dollars- that should be enough to get him some decent clothes and maybe some fast food to make himself feel better. He ducked down a familiar alley, humming a German tune to himself, hands in his pockets. It was a route he used often despite the lowlifes crawling in it. No one fucked with him here. He had caught many a malicious intent on the minds of nearby would-be thieves and after a few demonstrations, they had been content to let him pass in peace. It had been awhile since he'd gone shopping this way, but he was carefree as he strolled leisurely down the dank alley, basking in his own thoughts.  
  
So of course he didn't hear- in more than one way- the man that came up from behind him with a knife.  
  
***  
  
Yohji grumbled to himself as he came to a stop on the sidewalk and glowered at the long line at the ATM. Why did Tokyo have to be so damn crowded anyway? He jerked out his wallet and rifled through it. Thirty bucks. Well, that could buy him a few drinks at least. He could always find another ATM. He was turning to go when he heard a muffled shout. He hesitated, glancing around, a frown tugging at his mouth. He peered towards a nearby alley reluctantly. He'd been in there once before, and had barely managed to escape with his wallet and his jaw in one piece. Still… it could be a damsel in distress. "It's not easy being a hero," he sighed dramatically, and jogged into the alley with a faint grin.  
  
It was dark, and hard to see, but he was used to hunting in the night, and he quickly spotted the source of the trouble. Two men with knifes were beating at a tall man who was dodging nimbly and cursing in some foreign tongue. The man in the long coat feinted right suddenly, then slammed one of his attackers against the wall with a vicious kick. The other man leapt for him, but he backhanded him almost contemptuously. Well, Yohji thought, slightly disappointed, it certainly wasn't a damsel in distress.  
  
The man who had hit the wall pushed himself forward with a strangled cry, slashing with his knife.  
  
Yohji reacted without even thinking, thrusting out his hand and releasing his wire. It sang across the alleyway and twined around the unfortunate's neck.   
  
He gave a hard yank, felling the man easily and ignoring his scream.  
  
The other man hit the ground just a second later, downed by a vicious blow from his would-be victim. Yohji nudged the one he held captive, an obvious warning to shut up. The man silenced immediately, trembling fingers tracing the wire that was tight around his throat. "You struggle and you'll be a lot lighter," Yohji warned him. His response was a gurgle. Satisfied, Yohji turned to the one who had been attacked, ready to give him a short lecture about traipsing down dark alleys.  
  
The words died on his tongue and he made a sound much like the one the downed thug had. He was staring at Schuldich. His orange hair stood out even in the dim light the alley had to offer. His face was shadowed enough that Yohji could only make out the outlines. He raked his eyes up and down the telepath quickly, running over his options. This had to be a trap of some sort; his wire was busy keeping one man down. Stupid, stupid.  
  
His eyes paused then on Schuldich's shoulder. Even in the darkness, something seemed wrong about it; a part of it seemed to bled in with the wall behind it better. A faint frown twitched on Yohji's lips and he tightened his fists, deaf to the frightened sound the punk at his feet made when the wire grew more taut against his already lightly bleeding throat. The silence stretched between them, until there was a buzz and click behind them. Then the streetlight at the edge of the alley flicked on, its internal alarm telling it it was dark enough out that light was needed. A pale yellow-white light shone down the alley.  
  
Schuldich twisted his face away, lifting one hand automatically, as he was unfortunate enough to be facing the lamp when it suddenly flashed on. It took just a moment for Yohji to register that the stain on Schuldich's sleeve was blood, and another moment more to acknowledge the fact that it wasn't from either of the German's two attackers.  
  
Then Schuldich was turning to face him, frowning a little as he considered his helper. His eyes widened for a second, and Yohji had a brief glimpse of honest surprise and even a flicker of- fear? Then that arrogant smirk was on, eyes shielded as always, and he was the German Yohji had grown to hate. "Well, well, well," he drawled. "A little lost kitten far away from home."  
  
"Schuldich." Yohji spoke the name like a curse. He depressed the button on the side of his watch, and the wire instantly loosened. The man on the ground tore it from his neck and scrambled to his feet coughing. Yohji gave his rump a kick to send him packing, never taking his eyes off his enemy. The two street thugs dashed out of the alley as fast as their legs would take them, yelling hoarse threats and curses over their shoulders. Yohji's glance flicked once more towards the blood staining the German's sleeve. "What's the matter, Schuldich?" he asked with a slight sneer, pretending he wasn't tense as hell and ready for a fight. "Get nicked?"  
  
Schuldich's mouth moved in the faint suggestion of a frown as he looked down at his injured shoulder. Yohji shifted slightly, letting his wire recoil back into the watch, a million plans running through his head. He clamped down on them hastily, hoping to God Schuldich hadn't already picked them out of his mind.  
  
Schuldich lifted his eyes back to Yohji's, lips twisted in the faintest of smirks. "I guess I cut myself shaving," he drawled.  
  
"Maybe...or maybe you're not as good as you think yourself to be, getting injured by a couple of filthy men with a knife." He raised an eyebrow at the other assassin, fingers practically vibrating in preparation to send his wire flying. "You're slipping, Schuldich."  
  
Schuldich's smirk flickered for the barest of instants before the German burst out laughing. Yohji fought back the instinct to cringe at the sound. Schuldich took a step towards him and Yohji went rigid. "When you are as good as we are, you tend to forget some things. We never have the opportunity to refresh in our memory what pain is." The German reached up, brushing his fingertips along the bloodied material before extending the stained hand towards Yohji. Yohji took a step back, eyes narrowing in warning. "We don't get the pleasure of remembering such things; that's generally for the mediocre assassins to do. Speaking of Weiß, how is your resident Humpty Dumpty?"  
  
Yohji blinked, nonplussed. "What?"  
  
"You know, your local acrobat." Schuldich flashed a grin. "Don't tell me he was Killed in Action?"  
  
Ken. Yohji's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I ought to slice you and that Nagi brat up for what you did," he snarled, fists clenching in anger. "You.."  
  
"Dirty Nazi? Stupid German?" Schuldich looked bored. "Spare me, Kudou."  
  
"In your dreams," Yohji growled, and lashed out, letting his wire zip free. He knew it was useless; Schuldich had already caught a whiff of his plan before he'd actually done the act, but he couldn't help himself. The other man had pissed him off.  
  
Schuldich ducked to the side with that inhuman speed of his, but it was almost like an instinctive reaction, a startled look flitting across his face for just one second.  
  
It was long enough. Yohji stared in surprise at the German even as he was leaping back out of reach, jerking his wire back to him.  
  
Something was wrong. Why hadn't Schuldich expected the attack??  
  
Schuldich hissed softly, reaching up to finger his cut through the torn material of his shirt from where his quick dart away aggravated the wound. Jade eyes raked Yohji's face assessingly. Yohji continued to stare at him, mind running in a dozen directions. He had seen that look on Schuldich's face only twice before: once, when the floor had suddenly given out from under them in the tower by the sea, and the other time on the job they had just had this afternoon. That was twice he had surprised Schuldich in one day. The tower had been something the telepath could not have expected, but he had never fallen behind in following Yohji's thoughts before.  
  
Something was most definitely wrong here.  
  
He considered his options, taking in the way the edges of Schuldich's smirk had hardened, as if the expression had been frozen in place. Jade eyes narrowed slightly.  
  
~I'll try and feint an attack on the left,~ he thought slowly, ~and then quickly swing to the right. If I move fast enough...~ He let the thought trail off. He was assuming too much. It was a dumb idea. And yet...  
  
He lunged to the left, at the last minute ducking to the right. His fist just barely brushed over Schuldich's cheek. Schuldich's own fist crashed into Yohji's face, sending him stumbling back. He brought up his wire, as if somehow it could act as a shield, and took a step back. Two pairs of narrowed green eyes met and locked.  
  
Schuldich had moved to the right.  
  
Even with Yohji's thoughts about how the left was just a feint for an attack on the right, Schuldich had flitted to the right- directly into the path Yohji's attack had intended to go. Only at the last possible moment had the German recognized the feint for what it was and tilted backwards away from Yohji.  
  
What in the HELL was going on here? It was as if the other man hadn't even heard his thoughts. Maybe he was sick? His mind drifted back to the mission, in which he had caught the German by surprise twice, and he began to grow suspicious. Something was definitely up. Or was it just a trap, meant to make him overconfident?  
  
***  
  
Schuldich cursed himself in German silently.  
  
Yohji was sensing that something was up; he was realizing that Schuldich hadn't picked his planned feint from his mind. This was not good. He had to do something before the cat was out of the bag. He allowed himself a tight smirk at the bad pun, reaching up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. This scrawny kitten was definitely beginning to get on his nerves. At least Yohji hadn't drawn blood this time. Just a glancing blow to his cheek. He watched as Yohji wiped the blood from his split lip, noting the flicker of suspicion that lit up in those jade eyes.   
  
Time to do something about this. He spread his arms wide and leered at the other man. "Care to try again, kätzchen?" he challenged. "You almost had me there." He took care to put in just the slightest hint of a warning in that last jibe, whittling at the other man's self-confidence. If he could make Yohji think this was just a game to him, he might just get out of this without another close blow like that. He didn't think his pride could handle having the other assassin on almost even ground with him. In this narrow alleyway, his speed wouldn't do him much good in close combat.  
  
"It would be the third time today," Yohji pointed out, readying his wire once more.  
  
Schuldich's smirk widened. As if he needed a reminder..."My, aren't you clever...You can count."  
  
Yohji flicked a finger to his face, indicating his cheek. "I don't think purple's your color. It clashes with that gaudy coat of yours."  
  
"You goody-goodies have no sense of fashion," Schuldich tsked, sliding his hands into his pockets and taking on a lazy stance. It was the way he usually faced off his enemies when he knew victory was in sight. It was a sign he was done playing around.  
  
It was a big fucking façade that he hoped would end this stupid encounter quickly.  
  
Indeed, Yohji shifted positions again, his expression turning wary. Whatever suspicions he had been having were giving way at the normalcy to Schuldich's actions now. The faint mockery to his eyes faded, replaced with caution and uneasiness. Schuldich allowed his smirk to widen, hiding his mild relief. He took a step forward, enjoying the way Yohji tensed but refused to retreat. Jade eyes were cold and condescending as he locked them with Yohji's, outwardly nonchalant and inwardly watching for any sign of an attack.  
  
Yohji flicked the barest of glances over his shoulder, towards the entrance of the ally. "Don't tell me you're afraid of fighting in public," Schuldich jeered, hoping he was interpreting the look correctly.  
  
Yohji glared. "Of course _you_ wouldn't care."  
  
Schuldich gave a faint shrug, ignoring the way such a careless move aggravated his shoulder wound. "Why should I? The so-called innocents are never what they seem, never what you wish to see them as. No one is innocent."  
  
"That's a lie."  
  
Schuldich arched a brow at him, laughter rippling in his voice. "Is it? Don't be so naive, playboy."  
  
Yohji gritted his teeth in helpless frustration, fist tightening as he debated whether or not an attack was worth the risk. Had the other man been toying with him, making him think he was defenseless? He glanced around suddenly with an unhappy thought. Were the rest of Schwarz in hiding, laughing silently and waiting for the opportunity to strike?  
  
Schuldich's grin turned genuine at the sudden flicker of fear in the Weiß assassin's eyes. He loved being right.  
  
Pushing the dangerous game further, he took a lazy step towards the other man. He already knew what Kudou's reaction would be-- he didn't need telepathy for that.  
  
Yohji loosed his wire on him, nerves shredding as he caught the German moving towards him out of the corner of his eye. Schuldich dodged it easily and flitted forward, grin widening at Yohji's gasp of fear. He seized the shorter man's wrist in a crushing blow, feeling a twinge of triumph as the watch shattered in his fist. He reached up with his free hand and wrapped it around the young man's throat, grinning madly in his face. "I believe I owe you a few bruises myself."  
  
Yohji's attempt at a retort was more gurgle than words, as Schuldich's grip was almost tight enough to crush something. The German gave a small grunt, twisting his body and heaving both him and the other assassin towards the wall. There was a small crack as Yohji's head connected and the taller assassin gave a sharp gasp of pain, his free hand darting up to close on Schuldich's wrist. Yohji's fingers dug into the soft flesh as he try to give more leeway to his throat, an attempt to breathe, and Schuldich tightened his own in response. He gave the other man another rough shove before heaving him to one side, releasing his grip and watching as Yohji stumbled desperately for balance. He managed to stay on two feet at the last possible second and whirled to face Schuldich, one hand lightly massaging his throat as he gasped for breath.  
  
"You're not so tough without your tinsel, now are you?" Schuldich asked, taking a step towards him.  
  
"Why don't you go crawl under a rock and find a band-aid or something?"  
  
"Nice to see you're concerned about me getting an infection, Kudou."  
  
"It's just a shame," Yohji bit out, "that he didn't take your whole fucking arm off."  
  
"How crude," Schuldich yawned, then deliberately turned his back, lifting a hand over his shoulder in farewell. "Well, this has all been very entertaining, Balinese, but you've caught me at a bad time."  
  
"N-nani?" Yohji sputtered from behind him, caught by surprise.  
  
"I have shopping to do. You have weeds to attend to. Auf Wiedersehen."  
  
"M-matte!" Yohji called out angrily, but Schuldich ignored him, continuing down the alleyway, knowing that Yohji would not follow him now that he was battered and weaponless. Feeling much better now that he had come out on top in the skirmish even without his telepathy, Schuldich turned onto the street at the far end of the alley. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he offered a smirk to the world.  
  
The days to come weren't going to be so easy; especially once another mission cropped up. But for now… For now he enjoyed the murmurs of his own thoughts, the words no longer lost in the darkness of his mind.  
  
End Chapter 2  
  
Translations:   
Auf Wiedersehen : Goodbye, so long, see you later, etc 


End file.
